I see your rifle, your bayonet, the grenade. If we throw all this away, maybe we can be brothers. But some people don't want us to do this, right, they don't want us to know that we all have mothers, we have fathers, we all have the same fear of death, we all suffer the same, we all have the same, forgive me. Please forgive me, my good brother. The war is terrifyingly real. Before joining the war, I was fearless and ignorant of the front lines. I had the arrogance in my heart to defend my country and make achievements. After a few days in the training camp, I felt as if I had experienced the most painful setbacks and fatigue, but I didn’t know it was cruel. It's just the beginning, parting with relatives in front of the station, watching the disabled and stretchers hurriedly passing by the station aisle, it seems that the smoke has spread out, the excitement and longing in my heart seem to be suppressed by the reason and reality in front of me. , the original ideals and blood are all in the front line and the tomorrow that is about to survive. Although there was a half-day repair after the battle, and the exchange of food and flesh with the local women, the continuous sound of artillery fire and roaring for two days and two nights kept me awake all night, and the low and empty trenches might be filled with poisonous gas, otherwise It was the half-buried corpses and the long, hairless wild mice that were devoured by the long, hairless voles. During the war, the horses of strategic materials that were scattered and became targets, and even the corporal instructors from the original training camp were brought to the front line, but they pretended to be dead and dared not dare. Charge, and hopeful recruits who are only a year old. On the battlefield 100 meters apart, these soldiers may have had different identities and visions after the war, printers, clergy, lumberjacks, bricklayers, but here, they are the parts that are replaced at any time in the entire war machine , it may even be directly scrapped, just like being treated and dying in a camping hospital and being lifted off the bed to be replaced with new wounded, so ruthless and so fleeting. The grass must be like ants, and it is as low as a prisoner. Living is already the hardest thing and the most extravagant price. There are broken walls and rubble everywhere, smoke and dust are scattered, craters and dirt are intertwined, artillery fire and stubborn feet are flying together, the living soldiers continue to advance, and the corpses on the ground are not buried. on stage. in the ward. The patient asked, why did you stop him from committing suicide? Complaining tone. Sister, I am very worried for my friend. I think he is recovering slowly and smoothly. (And the person may have already gone to the morgue.) When he came back from the battlefield, his father was proud of his son who was a soldier and praised everyone. There were only old faces left in the bar. Those old grandpas were still talking about modern warfare and the war of fifty years ago. The difference, emphasizing offense versus tactics. He visited the mother who sacrificed his comrade in arms, and the mother did not rest so much Stile is not so heartless, only endless repetition and hissing, despair and condensed into a little silence, just hearing him repeat the news of his son's death according to her request, and hearing his son's name, his eyes still have some hope. of light. He went to see the head teacher of the last class before graduation. The head teacher was still giving a lecture in a slightly uplifting mood. Even if the terrible news of the war was vaguely reported from the front line, his students knew that the situation was not good, but the head teacher still seemed to be like a few years ago. When teaching him this class, he had faith in war and Weiguo. Because once this belief is gone, the head teacher will not be able to find support for work and life. Your class is very good, all good children, outstanding sons and daughters of the motherland. What about this class now? this class? Different. Defeatism has infected them, and they don't have your spirit, Bowmer. No longer a strong youth? Mom, I used to live in this house, all my things are here, all the books, all the books I hold dear. But they didn't tell me like they used to, because I'm not the me who lived here at that time. I am a soldier now, and my profession is no longer reading, but killing. My knowledge of life is limited to death, and I know that I should never come back. People out there think like I do, there's no point in arguing about the meaning of life because it's meaningless. All I know is that my companions are on the front lines, they are not my book family and my life, but I need them and I don't need anything else. Mom, it's scary to say these things, but I feel like it's time for me to find my true home now. (War tired but ashamed of myself for not fighting together) Albert, our class of 1916, 20 people joined the army, 13 people died, 4 people are missing, and one is in a lunatic asylum, only me and you are left alive, how much am I miss you. At the end, Bowmer saw a bird on a lone branch in the trenches. He took a piece of paper and stood up as he drew. I don't know if it was a shelling or a stray bullet. In an instant, he fell down. The painting on his hand was soaked in muddy water, reminding us vaguely of the last lesson before the war, when he painted birds outside the window in class, reminding us that he also had hot pillows and ideals in that blooming season, but now , everything came to an abrupt end, everything was dust to dust, everything was dark and silent, boundless silence. His students all knew that the current situation was unfavorable, but the head teacher still seemed to have faith in war and Weiguo when he taught this class a few years ago. Because once this belief is gone, the head teacher will not be able to find support for work and life. Your class is very good, all good children, outstanding sons and daughters of the motherland. What about this class now? this class? Different. Defeatism has infected them, and they don't have your spirit, Bowmer. No longer a strong youth? Mom, I used to live in this house, all my things are here, all the books, all the books I hold dear. But they didn't tell me like they used to, because I'm not the me who lived here at that time. I am a soldier now, and my profession is no longer reading, but killing. My knowledge of life is limited to death, and I know that I should never come back. People out there think like I do, there's no point in arguing about the meaning of life because it's meaningless. All I know is that my companions are on the front lines, they are not my book family and my life, but I need them and I don't need anything else. Mom, it's scary to say these things, but I feel like it's time for me to find my true home now. (War tired but ashamed of myself for not fighting together) Albert, our class of 1916, 20 people joined the army, 13 people died, 4 people are missing, and one is in a lunatic asylum, only me and you are left alive, how much am I miss you. At the end, Bowmer saw a bird on a lone branch in the trenches. He took a piece of paper and stood up as he drew. I don't know if it was a shelling or a stray bullet. In an instant, he fell down. The painting on his hand was soaked in muddy water, reminding us vaguely of the last lesson before the war, when he painted birds outside the window in class, reminding us that he also had hot pillows and ideals in that blooming season, but now , everything came to an abrupt end, everything was dust to dust, everything was dark and silent, boundless silence. His students all knew that the current situation was unfavorable, but the head teacher still seemed to have faith in war and Weiguo when he taught this class a few years ago. Because once this belief is gone, the head teacher will not be able to find support for work and life. Your class is very good, all good children, outstanding sons and daughters of the motherland. What about this class now? this class? Different. Defeatism has infected them, and they don't have your spirit, Bowmer. No longer a strong youth? Mom, I used to live in this house, all my things are here, all the books, all the books I hold dear. But they didn't tell me like they used to, because I'm not the me who lived here at that time. I am a soldier now, and my profession is no longer reading, but killing. My knowledge of life is limited to death, and I know that I should never come back. People out there think like I do, there's no point in arguing about the meaning of life because it's meaningless. All I know is that my companions are on the front lines, they are not my book family and my life, but I need them and I don't need anything else. Mom, it's scary to say these things, but I feel like it's time for me to find my true home now. (War tired but ashamed of myself for not fighting together) Albert, our class of 1916, 20 people joined the army, 13 people died, 4 people are missing, and one is in a lunatic asylum, only me and you are left alive, how much am I miss you. At the end, Bowmer saw a bird on a lone branch in the trenches. He took a piece of paper and stood up as he drew. I don't know if it was a shelling or a stray bullet. In an instant, he fell down. The painting on his hand was soaked in muddy water, reminding us vaguely of the last lesson before the war, when he painted birds outside the window in class, reminding us that he also had hot pillows and ideals in that blooming season, but now , everything came to an abrupt end, everything was dust to dust, everything was dark and silent, boundless silence. I was living here at the time. I am a soldier now, and my profession is no longer reading, but killing. My knowledge of life is limited to death, and I know that I should never come back. People out there think like I do, there's no point in arguing about the meaning of life because it's meaningless. All I know is that my companions are on the front lines, they are not my book family and my life, but I need them and I don't need anything else. Mom, it's scary to say these things, but I feel like it's time for me to find my true home now. (War tired but ashamed of myself for not fighting together) Albert, our class of 1916, 20 people joined the army, 13 people died, 4 people are missing, and one is in a lunatic asylum, only me and you are left alive, how much am I miss you. At the end, Bowmer saw a bird on a lone branch in the trenches. He took a piece of paper and stood up as he drew. I don't know if it was a shelling or a stray bullet. In an instant, he fell down. The painting on his hand was soaked in muddy water, reminding us vaguely of the last lesson before the war, when he painted birds outside the window in class, reminding us that he also had hot pillows and ideals in that blooming season, but now , everything came to an abrupt end, everything was dust to dust, everything was dark and silent, boundless silence. I was living here at the time. I am a soldier now, and my profession is no longer reading, but killing. My knowledge of life is limited to death, and I know that I should never come back. People out there think like I do, there's no point in arguing about the meaning of life because it's meaningless. All I know is that my companions are on the front lines, they are not my book family and my life, but I need them and I don't need anything else. Mom, it's scary to say these things, but I feel like it's time for me to find my true home now. (War tired but ashamed of myself for not fighting together) Albert, our class of 1916, 20 people joined the army, 13 people died, 4 people are missing, and one is in a lunatic asylum, only me and you are left alive, how much am I miss you. At the end, Bowmer saw a bird on a lone branch in the trenches. He took a piece of paper and stood up as he drew. I don't know if it was a shelling or a stray bullet. In an instant, he fell down. The painting on his hand was soaked in muddy water, reminding us vaguely of the last lesson before the war, when he painted birds outside the window in class, reminding us that he also had hot pillows and ideals in that blooming season, but now , everything came to an abrupt end, everything was dust to dust, everything was dark and silent, boundless silence.
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